Siriusly Screwed Down Under
by Siriusly Kewl
Summary: Name: Rolanda Johnson. Age: Sixteen. Hogwarts House: Gryffindor. Best friend: Didi Mackenshaw. Favorite subject: Charms. Motto: I do NOT obsess over Sirius Black. SBOC Marauders era. Rating for later chapters.


**A/N:** Hey, this is Melanie, Mels, Mel, Siriusly Kewl, whatever you want to call me, here with my very first (and it may be only… who knows?) SBOC story! The name of the story is **Siriusly Screwed Down Under **(no, not in that way… ugh) and it's about a girl named Rolanda Johnson who is currently infatuated… ahem, _not _infatuated with Sirius Black.

Riiiight… if you believe that, then I'm J.K. Rowling.

Meaning, that that statement was not true.

Doi.

And it was a disclaimer, too! Whoo! I killed two birds with one stone!

Ehh… figure of speech…

I'll shut up about that now.

I hope you enjoy, and please REVIEW!!!

Note: She is NOT in any way related to Angelina Johnson, Chaser and Captain of the Quidditch team in Harry's fifth year. I mean, Rolanda's Muggleborn, OK?

* * *

**Siriusly Screwed Down Under: Chapter One**

**Babysitting the Mortons **

**By: Siriusly Kewl**

* * *

_Beep… beep… beep… beep… _

I groaned and stirred, and put my pillow over my face.

_Beep… beep… beep… beep…_

"Shut up."

_Beep… beep… beep… beep…_

_Thunk._

I slammed my fist down on the alarm clock. The beeping stopped.

I promptly fell asleep again until my mom, Ms. Jennifer Johnson, age 43, came in and shook me awake.

"Rolanda, get up. You have to go babysit the Mortons in an hour."

I groaned.

"Rolanda, wake up!"

Another muffled groan, courtesy of _moi_. (That means "me" in French, dimwit.)

"Rolanda!"

Unfortunately, there is no turning off the Mom alarm.

I finally sat up, blearily rubbing my eyes. "What?" I snapped.

"You have to babysit the Mortons in an hour, so you should get up, Rolanda."

"But I babysit them at ten—" I glanced at my alarm clock. It read 9:01.

Dammit.

"I'm up, I'm up."

"I thought so." Mom had a satisfied smile on her face.

"Get out of my room."

"What do you say?"

Honestly, it's not like I'm a little kid or anything. I'm sixteen, for Christ's sake.

"Please?"

"Hurry up." She left the room.

My name is Rolanda Johnson, and I turned sixteen in May. I'm a Muggleborn witch who goes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I'm in Gryffindor. My best (and only) friend is Didi Mackenshaw, who's also a sixteen-year-old Gryffindor.

So… that basically sums up my life for you.

I stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed.

I emerged twenty minutes later, sopping wet, and pawed my way through my entire wardrobe, searching for something to wear. Hmm… what to wear when babysitting the Mortons?

The Morton kids were Daniel, age six, and Gabriella, age ten, almost eleven (she's turning eleven next month, on August 21st). Gabriella is really sweet and loves reading books, while Daniel loves playing pranks and planning mischief. They're both really nice to babysitters, though. I was really friendly with their mom.

I remembered from last week, the last time I babysat them, that they wanted to play in their pool next week (meaning today), so I chose a blue tank top and dark blue denim cutoff jeans, and a pair of orange flip-flops that would have clashed rather horribly with the colors if it weren't for the fact that orange and blue were complimentary colors.

Ah… art class in primary school did come in handy.

I raced downstairs and wolfed down a quick breakfast that Mom had set on the table.

She looked at me and suddenly asked a rather unexpected question as I took a sip of fresh-squeezed orange juice that she made herself (she's a sucker for homemade things): "Did you ever consider the possibility of moving back to America?"

I choked and spluttered. "Wh-What?" I asked, coughing, even though I had heard her perfectly well.

"Did you ever consider the possibility of moving back to America?" Mom repeated the question.

Yes, we had come from America. I was born there, but my dad died when I was barely one, in some sort of accident having to do with a gas leak at the oil company where he worked. So we up and moved to Britain. I still called my mother "Mom," and not "Mum," like most British kids did. At least I had a British accent. Mom still has an American accent, though.

"Um… no…" I muttered, averting my gaze.

"Well, do you _want _to?"

"No way!" I spoke up in vehement protest of this. "I go to Hogwarts… I can't leave! And I'll miss all my friends!" True, I didn't _have _that many friends, but still… And I would miss my babysitting charges as well. I know that sounds stupid, but I really, actually would.

"Fine. It was just a suggestion, honey." But I could tell from the look in her eyes that it was more than that. (**A/N:** You'll see… This isn't just added here to take up space.)

I glanced at the silver-and-blue clock hanging over the cupboards in the room that was the kitchen. It was 9:36 AM.

"Got to go," I apologized, draining my glass of orange juice and wiping my mouth on a napkin. "Duty calls." I waved good-bye and raced back up to my room to grab my things—i.e. a bathing suit and a book to read.

Walking to the Mortons' took about fifteen minutes, so I got there with one minute left to spare.

"Oh hi Rolanda, you're here," gasped Mrs. Selena Morton rather gratefully. She was a pretty woman with long, curly black waist-length hair and dark brown eyes. She looked way younger than 38, which was how old she really was.

"I have a meeting and then a luncheon to go to, so I'll be back around two or three in the afternoon. There's food in the refrigerator, as always—you can make them some sandwiches. They're really small, so make sure Gabriella gets at least two—she's suddenly convinced that she's fat, which she isn't, and it's a rather ridiculous thing for a ten-year-old to think, anyway. If they want to play in the pool, they can. Make sure to get them out before noon, OK? The sun will be really up by then. You can get them a little snack at around one or two, if they're hungry. Daniel is still allergic to grapes. If he claims that I'm going to let him jump on his trampoline, it's not the truth… I still won't let him. All the emergency phone numbers are tacked with magnets on the refrigerator. Don't let anyone in the house, even if they claim to have an appointment to drop something off or get something. Any questions?"

I shook my head. I had been babysitting the Morton kids for a while now, so I knew where everything was. Mrs. Morton just ran through her whole procedure anyway… she always does that.

"That's great," Mrs. Morton said rather distractedly. "Have a good time with Rolanda now, and be good, 'K, kids?"

"Bye Mum!" Gabriella called.

"Yeah, bye," Daniel echoed.

"Bye, sweeties, see you in a few hours," Mrs. Morton called. There was a _click _as the door swung shut.

"So…" I said after a moment. "What do you guys want to do?"

"The pool!" Daniel declared immediately. "I want to go swimming!"

"All right, your mom said you could. What about you, Gabby?"

"No thanks," she said quietly, and quite seriously, too. "I haven't lost enough weight yet. Once I do, I'll be able to go out in a swimsuit."

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Mrs. Morton wasn't kidding when she said that Gabriella wanted to lose weight. Had _I_ ever been obsessed with such a thing when I was almost eleven? Hmm… I couldn't remember. But then again, I had always been naturally thin. I could probably eat a whole pizza once a day for a month, and I would barely gain any weight at all.

"Gabby, you look perfectly fine the way you are. You're only ninety-five pounds," I reminded her.

Gabriella just looked at me. "Exactly," she said, and went back to her book… _Great Expectations _by Charles Dickens, to be exact.

What was a ten-, almost eleven-year-old kid doing reading a classic literary novel that even _I_ hadn't read?

I didn't ponder this matter any further, though.

"C'mon, Gabby, let's go out. I promise you can read outside," I cajoled.

She let out a huge sigh, like someone who was being forced to suffer a lot. "Fine," she mumbled.

"Remember to use sunscreen," I warned.

Ten minutes later, we were out of the house and in the pool. Daniel seemed content with splashing around and diving into the pool every so often, spraying us all with the clear water. Gabriella finally put on a cerulean-colored one-piece suit and sat at the edge of the pool, her toes in the water.

At around twelve, Daniel complained of hunger pains. I took them back inside and, after another ten minutes, rummaged around in the refrigerator for something to eat.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"Peanut butter and jelly!" Daniel shouted. "I want peanut butter and jelly!"

I looked at Gabriella. "Gabby?"

"Hold the jelly," she said in that odd, quiet voice of hers.

I was making the sandwiches—two for Daniel, two for Gabriella, and two for me—when Gabriella let out a loud shriek.

"What's wrong?" I asked her, glancing up.

She was pointing at the window, her eyes wide. "An owl!" she stammered.

"An owl! Cool!" Daniel cheered. "I heard they only come out at night. Why is one at our window?"

I washed my hands and let the owl in. It had a letter in its beak.

Great. What was I supposed to say to the Morton kids? It was probably a Hogwarts owl for me—after all, I was starting my sixth year at Hogwarts, and the person who wrote the letters and distributed them probably knew that I wasn't at my home.

"A letter-delivering owl?" Gabriella asked, her eyes wide. She watched as the owl took off back into the sky, after I had retrieved the envelope tied to its leg.

Yup, there was the Hogwarts crest on it all right.

But to my great shock, the letter was actually addressed to _Miss G. Morton_.

"Hey, that's for Gabby!" Daniel cried, peering at the envelope in my hands.

"Who would write to me and deliver it with an owl?" Gabriella wondered out loud.

I tore open the letter and glanced at it—yup, it was a Hogwarts acceptance letter—and then handed it to Gabriella, who read it, her eyes wide.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Miss Morton,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl at no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Gabriella looked up from the letter, her eyes wide with shock. "So I'm accepted into some… magic school?" she breathed.

Daniel was frowning. "Is it a joke?" he asked, looking rather confused. "Cuz I didn't do it."

I bit my lip. Should I tell them about Hogwarts? After all, I went too.

"I'm hungry," Daniel suddenly interrupted. "Can we eat first?"

"Sure," I agreed, and proceeded with the process of spreading the peanut butter and the jelly on pieces of bread and sticking them together.

While we ate our lunch, Gabriella could not shut up about the letter—which was very surprising, considering the fact that Gabriella usually was a very quiet girl. She babbled on and on about how, if it wasn't just some prank, she would be able to learn magic.

I noticed a scowl firmly etched on Daniel's face, so I enforced the rule of no talking while you ate.

Gabriella went back to reading her Charles Dickens book after lunch was over. Daniel went up to his room—doing what, I didn't want to know.

Mrs. Morton got home at 2:30 on the dot.

"Hi, kids," she greeted us after the door opened with a _click_. "How are you all? Thanks for watching them, Rolanda dear. The meeting went well."

"Oh, no problem, Mrs. Morton," I responded. "You know I always do."

"Mum, I got a letter," Gabriella interrupted.

Mrs. Morton looked surprised. "Oh… you did?" she asked.

"Yeah!" Gabriella confirmed. "Only it was delivered by an owl! You won't believe it, but it's for a magic school!"

Mrs. Morton frowned skeptically. "A magic school? Are you sure that it's not just a joke?"

Daniel's scowl deepened.

"It's not," I interjected.

Mrs. Morton gave me a weird look. "Not to be rude, Rolanda, but how would you know?"

I bit my lip. "Well…" I began. "It's from Hogwarts. It's the same school I go to."

I took a moment to let this to sink in for Mrs. Morton.

"No you don't," Mrs. Morton cut in smoothly. "You go to a boarding school in America, don't you?"

"Actually… no," I sighed and began to explain. "I go to Hogwarts… it's a boarding school, yes, but it's also in Britain. It… well… teaches magic. And apparently Gabriella is a witch, too."

That was the longest hour of my life.

* * *

**A/N: **Yes, I know, it sucked. The next few chapters—when Rolanda actually goes to Hogwarts—will be better. I hope, anyway.

Reading this will make me happy.

To review would be AWESOME.

Share the love! Be awesome!

Hehe.

-Siriusly Kewl


End file.
